


i know you’ve had a rough time (here i come to hijack you)

by dorsias (fangirlflair)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Always Female Sam Winchester, Episode: s09e04 Slumber Party, F/F, Female Sam Winchester, Femslash, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 19:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30060228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlflair/pseuds/dorsias
Summary: Weed isn’t something she indulges in- John’s anti-drug screeds had worked well enough that, even in adulthood, her and Dean usually stay clear of any substances that aren’t alcohol or demon blood- but when Charlie had turned up to her latest Bunker visit with a mason jar full of bud, who was Sam to turn her down?
Relationships: Charlie Bradbury/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 2





	i know you’ve had a rough time (here i come to hijack you)

**Author's Note:**

> Set nebulously in season 9, probably sometime during the events of Slumber Party, but we're going to pretend Gadreel doesn't exist and Sam has enough time to relax because they deserve it.
> 
> Title from Carly Rae Jepsen's Making the Most of the Night (arguably the SamCharlie anthem).

Sam blinks down at the tightly rolled joint pinched between her fingers, the tip still cherry but fading as she comes back to her senses. Before it can go out, Sam brings it to her lips, taking a slow drag as she lets her eyes flutter shut to fully luxuriate in it. It feels almost bizarre to be so content. Weed isn’t something she indulges in- John’s anti-drug screeds had worked well enough that, even in adulthood, her and Dean usually stay clear of any substances that aren’t alcohol or demon blood- but when Charlie had turned up to her latest Bunker visit with a mason jar full of bud, who was Sam to turn her down?

She can still feel where end is damp from where Charlie had held it between her lips, and for some reason, it makes her stomach swoop. As if she’s never had Charlie’s lips on her own before. As if they hadn’t spent that very morning in Sam’s bed, trading lazy kisses and soft giggles.

But they’re not _girlfriends_ , not technically, because neither of them really wants to have that conversation. But they’re _something_. And that’s enough for Sam to be devoted and feel like she’s in puppy love, finally feeling so deeply for the first time in nearly a decade.

Sam gazes across the small, forgotten Bunker supply closet, to where Charlie is sitting cross-legged and beaming, lit only by the weak overhead light. It feels like the two of them, nearly pressed knee to knee, are tucked away from the rest of the universe. But Sam’s well aware that even though she might feel like a little girl again, spending so much time on the ground is gonna wreak havoc on her legs. But she doesn’t let herself mind, carefully passes the joint back to Charlie, and focuses on how it’s warm and hazy. Sam feels cocooned in the smoke and her girl’s adoration. She feels far from worthy, but she keeps that thought to herself.

Clean, sturdy supply closet rags are rolled tight against the crack under the door, but they both know that tendrils of weedsmoke have crept out into the hallway. It’s more of a courtesy, since the Bunker’s so large it’s easy enough to escape the smell. Dean knows where to find them if he needs anything.

“You know,” Sam says, breaking the content silence with a scratchy-dry throat. They’d completely forgotten drinks on their way downstairs, and the nearest water source was down the hall, which was to say, much too far for Sam to even think about moving towards. “I don’t think I’ve done this in at least ten years.”

Kevin had offered her some a few weeks ago, telling her she had looked worse than he did. But she’d had no idea where he’d gotten a dealer while he was translating the angel tablet, much less how he’d found enough spare change to pay for an eighth. And even after all the blasphemous things Sam had done in her life, doing drugs with a Prophet of the Lord felt… wrong. She’d passed.

“What? Hang out with a girl?” Charlie teases, taking another drag before shifting her head back to blow smoke rings into the air, the two of them watching tiny o’s float up and disappear. Sam’s never been particularly compelled by women smoking before, but the sight makes her shiver.

“Oh, now you’re just showing off. You’ve already proved you’re the stoner queen.” Charlie had sat in the kitchen, Sam next to her and Dean peering over from where he was making lunch, and demonstrated how exactly to roll a joint. Sam hadn’t retained any of it, her eyes too zoned in on where Charlie was careful with the thin rolling paper between her fingertips.

“What’d you even go to college for if you weren’t learning to roll?” Charlie asks with a laugh, but just the reminder that Charlie even knows she went to college, and that she cares enough about the fact to remember it, hits Sam deep. No one else in her life really does, not anymore. And, all of a sudden, a part of Sam wishes she had known Charlie at Stanford, knowing in her core that Charlie and Jess would’ve gotten along. She lets herself imagine it for a moment, Charlie and Jess both looking at her, their eyes shining and their smiles teasing. Oh god, the way they’d have ganged up on her… Sam feels her cheeks go pink at the thought.

“I was going to be a lawyer, _Charlene_ , I wasn’t about to have a criminal record. And it wasn’t like Dean was ever gonna teach me. He’s probably out there right now, grumbling to himself about how we’re ruining our lungs. As if he didn’t have such a big crush on the Marlboro Man when he was nineteen that he smoked non-stop for a month.”

Charlie giggles at that, and Sam knows she’s filing that factoid away for later, for when she can tease Dean with it. But Sam doesn’t keep talking, not wanting to think about the fallout when John had noticed the crumpled carton on top of Dean’s duffel. So, she remembers this instead: Jess was taller than Charlie, only an inch shorter than Sam, so she never had to crane her neck down to kiss her the way she does with Charlie. They’re so different and so similar and Sam has no clue how she managed to get either of them to love her.

Lost in herself for a moment too long, Sam nearly jumps when Charlie reaches across the room to touch Sam’s knees, the joint secure between her index and middle fingers. She begins to ease Sam’s legs open, and Sam raises an eyebrow- _Oh? Are we about to have supply closet sex? Maybe we should hydrate first?_ \- but Charlie keeps moving until Sam’s legs are spread and her knees are up. Charlie turns herself around and leans back against Sam’s chest, Sam finally understanding and securing her own weight against the solid concrete wall of the closet. “Wish we’d brought a book or something,” Charlie murmurs, tipping her head up enough to press her lips to Sam’s jaw. “I’d kill for you to read to me right now.”

“Oh yeah? Werewolf or vampire?”

Sam leads forward, snagging the joint between her lips from where Charlie was holding an arm up to offer it to her. She inhales deeply as Charlie replies, “Depends, what’s easier to fight high?”

The question makes Sam laugh, the smoke catching in her throat as it escapes. “I dunno,” she answers honestly, starting to run her fingers through Charlie’s hair. “Don’t think I’ve ever been on anything while on a hunt. Demon blood not included.”

Charlie buts up into Sam’s hand like a pleased little cat, so Sam keeps petting through her hair, fingernails scratching gently over scalp. “Demon blood,” Charlie repeats, her voice tilting up at the end like it’s half a question. Sam knows it isn’t, knows that Charlie has been told most of it, and even if she hadn’t, knows that Charlie wouldn’t cross any lines by asking anything Sam’s not ready to answer. “You’re so badass, babe. Like, _demon blood_ …”

If it was anyone else, the reminder would make Sam’s skin crawl. But Charlie’s just so earnest and honest and still so new to this world- comparatively, at least- that Sam knows there’s no judgement. She wasn’t there to see Sam then, first all-powerful, then strung out and suffering. Sam lets her think badass is the right word for it all.

“Where are you off to after this? You gonna look for another hunt? Or another job?” Sam asks in an attempt to change the subject, pressing her nose into Charlie’s hair and dropping a kiss there.

“Maybe, if something comes up. But… I don’t know, I was thinking maybe I could hang out here for a few days? I know you and Dean are always so busy and with the fallen angels and everything, I don’t know if I could help with that but—”

Sam cuts her off quick, knowing that just like herself and Dean, Charlie’s prone to rambling when she’s two parts nervous, one part excited. “Charlie, hey, of course you can stick around. I’d really like it if you did, actually,” she confesses, her heart seizing in her chest when Charlie whips around to grin brightly at Sam, as if Sam has just given her the world.

“Yeah?” Charlie asks, the no longer lit joint abandoned on one of the closet’s shelves as she wraps her arms around Sam’s neck and plants a kiss to her lips. “Yeah,” Sam answers, leaning her forehead against Charlie’s. She feels like she could start floating with how happy she is, like she could take Charlie with her as they soared up and out of the Bunker, fueled only by their affection for one another. “Stay as long as you want.”


End file.
